


Snowy Day

by Duck_Life



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Penguins, Season/Series 05, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: “Is Santa real?”“Is— ? Martin, you know there’s no Santa Claus.”“And a couple of years ago I knew that spiders were just spiders,” Martin reminds him. “C’mon. Just… humor me. Jon… is there a Santa Claus?”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	Snowy Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caelan (winter gift exchange!)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Caelan+%28winter+gift+exchange%21%29).



Wherever they are, in whatever corner of this nightmare reality Martin and Jon have stumbled into now, it’s snowing. Flakes collect in Jon’s hair, making the gray there look even more silver. Martin suggests they settle in under the tarp and wait out the snow. 

“It’ll only keep falling,” Jon points out tiredly. “I told you, the journey is just—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Martin says, shucking off his backpack so he can root around for the tarp, “but you also said we have to… ‘experience’ these things. And I don’t know a better way to experience a snowy day than by curling up close with the one you love and something hot to drink.” He flaps out the tarp and finds a couple barren trees to tie it to. “I’ve got you,” Martin says. “And I’ve still got the tea and the camping kettle from Daisy’s.” 

“You… may have a point,” Jon admits. He takes his backpack off as well and starts pulling out the blankets they brought along— though the cold doesn’t really bother him, not like this. It’s like hunger or the need to sleep— bygone symptoms of a bygone world. 

But the blankets are soft.

Jon curls into the warmth of Martin’s sweater, sucking up the heat like a cat sitting on a laptop. Martin likes that, likes having someone to keep warm. Likes being the one to give off heat while Jon works like a heat sink, the thermodynamic equilibrium of it all. Like how Jon picks the croutons out of his salad to give them to Martin, like how Martin lets Jon have the pickle that comes with his sandwich. 

Abruptly, Martin feels a pang of longing for a normal lunch. Doesn’t even have to be a good lunch, just the act of sharing a meal with the person he loves. Arguing over the check. Getting disapproving looks from Jon when he starts crunching the ice cubes from his drink,  _ “that’s really not good for your teeth, you know _ .” 

Martin sets up the kettle and starts heating up the water for tea. It feels nice and ludicrous at the same time, and he can practically picture Tim joking about how only Martin would make tea in the middle of the apocalypse. 

Thinking about Tim hurts, though, so he sets the thought aside and focuses on what he’s doing. At least he can be reasonably certain this tea isn’t going to turn into some sort of spider creature. 

He misses the way things used to be. Things at the Institute were always so crazy, but looking back from this perspective it all seems mundane. He misses normalcy, but of course, that’s not really something he’s ever truly had. Neither of them did. 

And now they have this facsimile of a cozy winter’s day. And if that’s what he gets, then, fine. He’ll take it. 

“When was the last time you saw snow like this?” Jon speaks up, breaking Martin from his reverie. 

“February, I think,” Martin says, and Jon shakes his head.

“No, no, like  _ this.  _ All clean and white, not… not grayed-out by the city. When was the last time you saw snow like  _ this _ ?”

“Oh… I don’t know,” Martin says. “Probably not since I was a kid, visiting my aunt. What about you?”

Jon frowns. “Ny-Ålesund,” he says. “Didn’t get to see it falling, though, just… just sort of all over the ground. Like the Arctic.” 

Martin scoffs as he pours a cup of tea and passes it to Jon. “Like you know what the Arctic looks like.”

“I  _ Know _ what everything looks like.”

“But you haven’t  _ been _ there,” Martin says. “When you’ve actually been to the North Pole, then you get to use it for your little comparison.” He sips his tea, and then he sits up a little. “Ooh. Jon? Permission to use your magic Google powers?”

Jon sighs. “Permission granted.”

“Is Santa real?”

“Is— ? Martin, you know there’s no Santa Claus.”

“And a couple of years ago I  _ knew _ that spiders were just spiders,” Martin reminds him. “C’mon. Just… humor me. Jon… is there a Santa Claus?”

“There is no such creature as Santa Claus,” Jon intones. “There’s also no Easter Bunny or leprechauns.”

“Yeah, yeah, or the Tooth Fairy.”

“Actually—”

“Shut  _ up _ .”

“What, a strange woman who sneaks into people’s homes to steal their teeth? Sounds a bit like the Stranger to me,” Jon says. 

“Are you being serious right now?” Martin demands, swiveling his neck to look at Jon. His face looks unreadable. He could be completely serious or he could be screwing with Martin, and he never can tell which is which. “Jon.  _ Jon _ . Are you— Jon, don’t mess with me. Are you being serious?”

“I’m always serious, Martin,” Jon says gravely. 

“Say psych right now.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that the Tooth Fairy is an avatar of the Stranger.”

“You’re the  _ worst _ .”

“You love me,” Jon points out.

Martin smiles and rolls his eyes, clutching his tea close to his chest and snuggling in closer to his infuriating boyfriend. “Yes, I do,” he sighs. The snow falls in flurries, and Jon wraps one long arm around Martin’s shoulders. 

The world is a nightmare right now, but for a few moments they can huddle under the blankets and shut away the nightmares. They can drink tea and hold each other and watch the snow. “Did you ever make snow angels?” Martin asks. “Or snowmen? I’m trying to picture you playing in the snow.” 

“I  _ did _ have a childhood, you know,” Jon says. “I didn’t just emerge with gray hair and a rumpled necktie.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Jon elbows him, and Martin laughs. “I… okay, I did get very into building snow forts,” Jon recalls. “Some of the neighbor kids would have snowball fights. And I had… well, I had a special interest in sandcastle building contests when I was… nine? And all that information was fairly helpful when it came to the construction of snow forts and barricades.”

Martin watches with rapt attention. Jon’s “story voice” is so different from his “statement voice.” He sounds lighter, a little more self-conscious. (Martin rarely acknowledges his own affinity for Beholding, but he can’t deny that he’s gripped by a desire to Know Everything about Jon, what he likes, how he grew up, whether he prefers socks or slippers on a sleepy Sunday morning, what he likes on his toast). 

“So… so the other kids, they all started enlisting me to build their snow forts,” Jon explains. “I’d be out there earlier than anyone else after we had snow, and I’d start building up these… well,  _ I _ think they were impressive—”

“I’m sure they were magnificent,” Martin says. 

Jon blushes. “They were alright,” he says. “They held up, too. Later in the day all the kids would come out and they’d have their snowball fight. And I’d watch and… see which of my designs was best. Got to see my own architecture in action. It was fun!”

“Did you… actually participate in these snowball fights?”

Jon shrugs. “I mostly sat and watched.”

“So…” Martin frowns. “The other kids got you to do the hard work for them… and then they had a snowball fight without you?”

“Why would I  _ want _ to be pelted with snowballs?” Jon points out. “I was having  _ fun _ . They were having fun. Symbiosis.” 

“If you say so,” Martin says, trying to picture a scrawny 10-year-old Jon, surveying his work, waiting to see if a snowball would topple the forts he’d worked all morning on. “You know, it’s stuff like this that’s why everyone calls you adorable.”

“ _ Who _ calls me adorable? Beside you. And Helen.”

“Melanie. Georgie,” Martin says, counting on his fingers. “Ba—”

“Okay, okay, enough,” Jon says. “What about  _ you _ ? What did you used to do when it snowed?”

“I made snowpeople,” Martin says proudly. “Except they always ended up sort of lumpy and… more often than not, they looked more like penguins than people. So I made snowpenguins.” 

Jon’s eyes light up. “Did you know that male penguins woo the female penguins by giving them rocks?”

“Sounds like a guy I dated in college,” Martin says. “He was really into gemstones and crystals… he was always giving me rocks and then like. Explaining what they could help me with— which ones boost your imagination, which ones are supposed to help you sleep better.”

“That’s sweet.”

“What about those gay penguins?”

Jon blinks. “The what?” 

“Yeah, yeah, there was a picture book about it or something,” Martin says. “There’s like. More than one gay penguin couple in the world? A few different zoos apparently have penguins in same-sex relationships.”

“Good for them.”

“How do you think they… ‘woo’ each other, though?” Martin presses. “Like, do they just keep giving each other rocks back and forth?” 

“Do you want me to… ?” Jon points to his eyes. 

Martin tilts his head, considering. “I’m trying to decide if whatever the truth is will be better than what I’m picturing. Which is two smitten, polite penguins frantically trying to give each other more and more pebbles as a sign of affection.”

“I’m going to peek.” Jon’s quiet for a moment, and then he lets out a quiet laugh. “Apparently. One of the couples from New York tried to hatch a rock like an egg.”

“I… can’t tell if that’s cute or sad.”

“Staff eventually gave them an egg of their own.” 

“Cute, then,” Martin decides. 

“They also show affection by, um, entwining their necks together,” Jon says, using his eldritch all-seeing abilities to learn more about gay penguin mating rituals. 

“To think,” Martin says, “I brought you so many cups of tea when all I had to do was give you a rock and ‘entwine my neck’ with yours.” 

“I’m not a penguin, Martin.” Jon pauses, thinks about something, and then twists in closer to Martin so he can press his face up against Martin’s neck. “But I  _ do _ enjoy huddling up close for warmth.” 

Martin laughs and tugs the blankets up higher to cover them both. “Me too.” 


End file.
